


Our share of night to bear

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [27]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Deep Roads (Dragon Age), Dragon Age: Origins Quest - A Paragon of Her Kind, F/M, Relationship Discussions, Slow Romance, Sort Of, Splitting the Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 01:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19052287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: What's a story without dramatic separation of the party and pledging?  Caitwyn Tabris and Alistair split the party in the Deep Roads. She knew he wouldn't like the idea, but she didn't know how hard it would be to leave.DOUBLE POST TODAY!  Please read this fic beforeWe grow accustomed to the dark





	Our share of night to bear

“I don’t like it.”  Jaw set, Alistair regarded her like a dog with a bone.  He was not going to make this easy, and some small part of her was glad he fought her on this.  On her going ahead with a smaller party while he stayed behind with the others. “You said you wanted my opinion on our choices, so there it is.  This isn’t a good idea, for just you to go. We’re  _ both _ Grey Wardens, aren’t we?  We’re the ones who were made for this.”

“You know our options as well as I do.”  In the crystalline blue light that suffused Ortan Thaig, Caitwyn ticked the items off on her fingers.  “One, take everyone, with all the risk of Blight infection that entails. I’ll not see what happened to Rusk happen to others if I can prevent it.”

“At least we agree on that.”  His voice was quiet; all their voices had been hushed in this Thaig that was a tomb.  A tomb for the dwarves that had been left behind when Orzammar had closed its gates, and for the more recent dead like Rusk.  At least his end had been as painless as she and Zevran could make it. Just the wrong kind of mushroom, a mistake any Blight-sick soul might make.

Alistair’s hand enveloped hers, strong and  _ there _ , jolting her away from the far too recent past.  She squeezed his hand as tight as she could, the leather of their gloves creaking together.

“Two,” she continued after a deep breath.  “You and I both go further into the Deep Roads after Branka.  There’s no denying that Oghren has to come with us. It’s his wife we’re chasing down, and he might be able to talk to her best.  Also would need either Wynne or Morrigan.” A grimace twisted his features. “Alright,  _ Wynne _ .”  The grimace turned into a weak, chagrined smile.

“And what’s wrong with that idea?  You and I are both immune to the Taint, and as much as I don’t like risking Wynne to the Blight, she’s faced it before and survived.  She knows what she’s doing.” 

“What happens if darkspawn swarm the ones left behind with no Warden to sense them coming?  Or worse, what if we both die down there? The there’s  _ no _ Warden’s left to—”

“So you’d rather die down there by yourself?”  His grip on her hand tightened and crushed her bones together, but his voice was a strangled whisper.  The pale luminescence of the crystals set in the high ceiling of the cavern washed out his features, making him seem more ghost than man.

“I’d rather not die at all,” she said dryly, eyes sliding away from his.  He hissed like he’d been burned.

“For once, I don’t appreciate the joke.”  Her whole body jerked away, their hands falling apart.  The comfort of his warmth became distant, like a sunny day ruined by a sudden downpour.  “Look, I get it. It’s because I get sick down here, isn’t it? Well, I’m sorry I’m not stronger, then.  Not like you, able to put it all away.”

She stomped her foot on the stone like she was a child.  “Maker take you, it’s not about you Alistair. I don’t  _ want _ to leave you behind.  But of the two of us, you’re the one that’s better fighting from a defensive position.  With Zevran and Leliana, you can have a good perimeter of traps, and Leliana’s still better than me with a bow.  Sten can cut down whole crowds of darkspawn, and Wynne’s also better at defense. And we might need a fallback position.  It makes  _ sense _ , this.”

“Huh.”  It was like he’d been hit in the stomach, the irritation bleeding from the lines and angles of his face, his expression once again the softer, lighter one she was used to.  Her fingers quested toward his palm, and he turned his hand up for her, letting their hands slide together once more. “When did you pick up all this tactical stuff?”

“Sten, mostly.  A few books I found in Redcliffe.”  She shrugged and ignored his huff of disbelief.  He knew what  _ found _ meant.  “I won’t lie to you.  Yes, you get horrible sick when we’re in the middle of the corruption, and I do worry what would happen if we couldn’t move you.  Might’ve noticed, I’m only rather small.” That earned her something like a smile from him, and the warmth of him slowly burned away the clouds that had gathered between them.  “Besides, what’s an adventure without dramatic separations and pledging?”

His brows knit with irritation, but his hazel eyes glinted with amusement as they both recalled their ridiculous conversation at the Redcliffe docks.  The last time they had parted ways. “Hey now,  _ I’m _ the funny one.  You’re the smart one.  Let’s keep to that.  _ Fine _ ,” he groaned, relenting.  “Fine. Go. Just… please…”

He spoke so softly even she could only barely hear it.  In that  _ please _ was a thousand others, but those she heard loud and clear.  The same entreaties were on the tip of her tongue as well.  _ Please be safe, please be here, please come back, please do not let me lose you now I’ve found you _ .

Gazing up at him, she fixed his features in her mind’s eye, and his eyes roamed her face for possibly the same reason.  

“I will,” she whispered.  “And you.”

“I will.”  A pledge made surrounded by the stone of the dwarves, Caitwyn could almost imagine their words sinking into the stone itself to be kept and recorded like the Shaper of Memories spoke of.  

As prepared as she could be, she hiked her pack up on her shoulders and made to depart.  When she reached the apex of the bridge Caitwyn turned about to wave to him. He waved back, Maethor at his side, man and dog alike forlorn at her leaving them both.  Morrigan and Shale forged ahead, neither one caring to be a party to sentiment. Oghren, however, slowed his step and cocked his head to glance up at her.

“He’ll be alright, Warden.”  Oghren’s rough grumble was a strange sort of comfort she had not sought out in the slightest, and she was put in mind of one of her uncles in the Alienage who had been kind in his own gruff way.  She raised her hand to clap him on the shoulder when he chuckled. “That’s a good dog you have. Oh, the boy will be fine, too, I’m sure.”

She rolled her eyes at his armored back.  Should have known better. With a puff of breath, she allowed herself one more look, her fingers waving weakly, and he did the same.  Then she turned on her heel and strode down the slope of the bridge. Though he was out of sight, she could feel the warmth of him across her back for a long time, growing fainter and fainter as the oil-slick worms of corruption crowded in closer and closer.  Until his warmth was gone, and only the rot remained.


End file.
